The Mission
by bookiejar
Summary: Bucky Barnes, The Winter Soldier is on the run. And on his way, he meets a girl, Emma. Emma is a poor medical student who works on a diner to pay her tuition, she is bold and friendly and lively. She is everything that he's not. On that cold day, the day had met, Bucky saves her life, and then she saves his. They become friends. They become lovers. She becomes his mission.
1. The Stranger

When the strange looking, blue-eyed man showed up, she was cleaning the glasses.

She raised her eyes and looked at the man.

He was sitting on the table at the end of the diner. He was wearing a hat that was holding his brown hair, his body was mostly covered with his green coat. He was wearing black gloves and they were still on his hands, it was kind of weird because the temperature inside the diner was hot.

Like, really hot.

Emma was wearing a tank, she always wore tanks at work, and then freeze to death with her thin coat until she got home.

When she was finished with the glasses and realized that she was the only one who noticed the man, she sucked in a deep breath and walk to the man at the table.

Still wearing those gloves. Wow.

Such determination.

"How can I help you?"

The man raised his head, his eyes were more deep and oddly more blue from close. He didn't say anything or make any sound for a moment, then, he opened his pink, good shaped lips and muttered:

"Can I just sit here? For a while," he said, his lips were pink and his eyes were bright but she could see, a sudden realization, that his face was pale. "Please."

Disconcerting pale.

"Sure, it's okay." _It wasn't._ Her boss would never let it happen, you had to order at least one thing if you wanted to put your ass on any of the chairs in the diner. Emma thought it was unnecessarily rude, but her boss was a rude man anyway. And this was his exact way of explaining the one simple rule to be in this diner more than ten minutes:

 _Order something._

The only other way to spend more than ten minutes in the diner was to be a person who works for the diner. And if you're one of them, a waitor or waitress here, the rule was a little bit different:

 _Make people order something._

But Emma had never really followed that one simple order, she was just treating people in the way that made her feel right, in the way that they deserved. In her perspective, anyway.

"Um… Are you okay?" The moment she asked the question she felt repentant. _Why the hell do you even care?_ Clenching her jaw, she looked at the blue-eyed man.

"I'm fine," he said, looking at her face with an unreadable expression on his face and without blinking his eyes.

Unlike him, Emma was blinking like crazy and she was pretty sure she had had blanked a billion times since the weird conversation between her and the man started.

"Okay," she said with her calm, _how-can-ı-help-you_ voice. "Not my business, right? I know." She smiled and saw, right before turning and starting to walk back to the glasses-which she had already done cleaning-, the blue-eyed man's pink lips' curling up, forming into a warm smile.

No. Not warm.

She couldn't know that. He was just a stranger, a stranger who wore gloves and a coat in a hot-tempered diner, he wasn't a person she could _just_ read on the face.

No.

But she knew _something_.

That smile was cute. _He_ was cute.

And weird. Too weird.

Too weird to be cute.

I mean, she was used to these stuff. The Avengers, and X-Men, flying cities and Asgardian Gods, yeah, you know? Weird was equal to normal nowadays but this guy had something different about him.

He had been sitting there for… How long? She didn't know. It was _more_ than ten minutes for sure. Taking a deep breath and feeling nervous, she grabbed a bottle of water and walked to the man, once again.

She put the bottle on the table, trying to imagine the deep blue eyes that had fixed on her.

"I don't want to be a pain your ass but…"

"What?" he said, looking puzzled.

"What _what?_ " she said, she was even more puzzled than him. Why did he interrupt her like that? Was it the word 'ass'? _Really?_

"You're not… You're not a pain in my…"

"Well of course, I know that," she said slowly, as though it was a little child in front of her. Suddenly, she felt the embarrassment, and the annoying, physical reaction it brought with itself: sweating. "I know that I'm not…" She stopped talking suddenly, feeling _really_ annoyed. "Look, I just don't want to keep pushing you about ordering something, but. uh… You _have_ to order something. Otherwise you can't sit here. So I brought you water… The only thing that _everybody_ drinks…Oh, and, don't worry, it's from the house… I guess. I mean, it _is_ from me." She laughed weirdly, like a _giant weirdo,_ and then, hating herself, stopped it.

The man looked uncomfortable too, just like her, but the look of understanding on his face was appreciable.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's not my _stupid_ rule. It's my boss's."

"It's okay," he said simply, and held the water in his hand, still looking on her face.

She was still standing there, with no reason to stay, but you know, sometimes, there is this odd feeling that keeps you from doing anything, from going anywhere, from saying anything, even some rare times, from breathing.

This was, again, oddly, one of those times.

She couldn't even breathe properly.

She reached out her hand, saying, "I'm Emma."

He looked at her hand, her _stupid, trembling_ hand, and then reached out his own. His grip was tight, but gentle. Kind as though he was trying to make her feel like that, like, he could break her hand if he wanted to, but he was kind and gentle enough not to do that.

Or, you know, maybe this was just his way of shaking hands with someone and also, this was just Emma's weird way of making up stupid scenarios about the people she didn't know, not _maybe, for sure._

Like, she was making it all up in her head, for sure.

Like, she was thinking that there was something strange with this cute guy, _for sure._

Like, there was something familiar with this guy, _for sure._

But really, that unpleasant feeling, seeing a familiar looking stranger and not being able to remember the thing that makes this person so familiar in your eyes, was all over her.

The blue-eyed man looked around… _Suspicously?_

And then looked at her again, as though he was trying to decide whether he was going to tell his name or not. As though she was _trustworthy_ enough.

"James," he said in a low voice. So low that for a second, she thought she couldn't her him. But then, the name flew like a bird in her head, swam like a bird in the ocean, _James, James, James._

There was still that unpleasant feeling.

But she chose to ignore it.

"Nice to meet you," she said, and loosened her grip on his hand, but he was still holding her hand, examining her face. "You can let go now, you know," she said in an amusing voice.

He let go.

"You really are a weird guy, aren't you?"

James took a deep breath and looked at the bottle, once again in his hands. "You don't even know the half of it."

Emma smiled.

But she wasn't sure it was noticed by the weird stranger named James.

Nor did she knew that it actually _was_ noticed by him.


	2. The Ghost

The guy kept sitting on the table, sometimes taking sips from his bottle.

When all the other workers on the shop started to leave, Emma quickly checked on everything, trying to tell herself that it was _normal_ to have nothing to do but to sit on a table in silence all day and stare at the ground.

Sure. It was normal.

She always made those things…Sitting. And staring.

"The diner is about to be closed," she said, raising her voice. "My boss lives here. I have to go and tell him I'm going home… And then it will be all dark here…" She stopped talking for a moment and looked at the man.

He didn't say anything but stood up. Just as he was about to say something, someone rushed in and without hesitation, walked straight up to Emma, raising a… _A gun._

Emma opened her lips to scream but the man was already on her, holding her body with his arm and closing her mouth with his hands. The hands that had covered her mouth were sweaty and was giving no chance to her to breathe properly.

Desperately, she looked at the stranger, James, who looked annoyed and angry rather than looking scared or… You know, surprised.

"Let her go," he said, in a low and calm voice. He was looking at them, at _her,_ but he obviously didn't see her. The only thing he saw was the intruder.

"I don't think so, _honey,_ " said the voice behind her. "You get out of here and I won't kill you. _Stay,_ and I kill you,"-his grip on her body tightening-"right before I kill _her._ "

James nodded, positively, and Emma found herself desperately wanting to scream. _He was gonna leave her!_ He was gonna just get out and let her die.

And her boss… Her stupid boss was probably sleeping, being useless, the only thing he was perfect at.

Emma was crying. The tears were streaming down from her eyes to he man's ice-cold hands, but he seemed like he didn't notice it.

"So, we're gonna do this the hard way," said James.

And he jumped to the man, to Emma, and Emma, whose mouth was finally free, screamed like a newborn baby.

The intruder's gun screamed with her, she felt the bullet's rage in her ears, but she kept screaming and crying, like a pathetic loser.

James pulled her to himself, and then pushed her away, she was on the ground now, terrified, watching the two man struggling with each other.

One punch from James and one from the man, but the moment the intruder punched James on his left shoulder, he screamed and looked at James with an expression full of shock and fear.

"How…"

But before completing his sentence, James held his neck tightly and raised him above, his feet leaving the ground, defying gravity.

"I told you to _let her go,_ " he said. His face was full of curiosity, he looked almost like a mad man, and Emma was still freezed with shock and fear, watching him from the spot she fell seconds ago.

He was fast. Strong. His pale face had never changed a bit after raising a grown-up man to the air. He was _really_ weird. It was not her imagination, her stupid way of making up stories about people.

This guy was even more dangerous than the idiot intruder who had burst in the diner.

 _But he saved your life._ She clenched her jaw. _You owe him._

"Why didn't you just let her go?" James said, but the man was about to lose his conscience, his face was now changing from red to purple and he had just stopped making weird noises which meant his body was trying to deal with the abnormality that had came from the other man. _James._

"James," said Emma, her voice was low and childish. She wasn't even sure he had heard her, until he turned his face and looked at her, with his blue sparkling eyes. "James, it's okay," she said, even though it wasn't, "just leave him be, you'll kill him."

James turned back to the man and loosened his grip on his neck, the man was released from his hand, his body made an odd, crackling voice because of the unfortunate meeting with the hard diner floor.

"Are you okay?" James asked, trodding towards her.

Emma took a light breath and gulped clumsily. She stood up and looked at the man on the floor, and wondered, where was her boss? What the hell was he doing when she was _nearly_ dying here?

"Thanks," Emma said, with a harsh voice. She was suddenly feeling _very_ uncomfortable, moreover, angry. Who she was angry at, that was unclear.

"Are you sure?" said James, inspecting her face with narrowed eyes.

"Do I look _that_ bad?" said Emma, still out of breath, her heart beating like a race horse on hippodrome.

"You look like a ghost," he said, not smiling.

Because of the attack that had broke her nerves and made her feel like a drunk person, Emma smiled dazedly for a second, then, narrowing her eyes just like James, she muttered, "You're the _ghost._ "

James blinked his eyes, _for the first time the whole day,_ and looked at her with blank eyes, as though her words meant something, as though they were said for more than just teasing.

After a weird moment of silence, " _Right_ ," said Emma. "Okay. All right. I guess I have to call the cops… I mean… I've never been through a shitty situation like this before. This is _insane_!"

"Don't tell them about me," said James. His right cheek was pink-red, it must be because of the punch from the intruder.

"Who?"

"The cops."

"Oh…why?"

"Just _don't,_ " he said. "Please." And he started to walk towards the exit.

"Wait," said Emma. "Are _you_ okay?" His brown hairs were still hidden under the hat he wore, he was still wearing those gloves and that coat. _God._ He looked sweaty and tired, though, and this was a change at least.

James scowled. "I am," he said.

Emma tried to smile friendly, she couldn't believe, after all that happened, she was still trying to be friendly with this guy, _James. "Are you sure?_ "

James nodded, with a dull face, but his eyes were telling a different story. "Take care," he said.

And he was gone.

Just like that.

Maybe he really was _a ghost,_ after all.


	3. The Metal Arm

Emma took a deep breath, looking at the fainted man on the ground, and realized that his gun was just a few metres away from him, her heart beating like a drum again, she leaned forward and took the gun, feeling highly odd with the tool in her hands.

She dialed the number and told the cops everything, everything except James' heroic interference, the way he saved her life, not hesitating, not even for a moment. Just like a hero.

Just like the heroes from the Avengers.

Maybe he was a guy like _them,_ that's why he was so awkward. She didn't know. She couldn't understand. As a matter of fact, she _didn't want_ to know. She was tired. _Dead_ tired. And she just wanted to get home.

Like, right now.

She nocked her boss' office and realized, once again, how much she hated her boss. And then, realized one more thing, how much she needed the money that had came from his stupid boss to pay for her college tuition.

She took a reviving deep breath again, and tried to find the strength to deal with her boss and the cops on the road.

A couple more hours and she would be home.

After exactly four hours, she was on her way home, _finally._

Her boss had given her a day-off because of the things she had been through, which was a good thing, actually, she was planning to spend it with sleeping all day.

The cops were very surprised by her way of handling the situation so nonchalantly, so surprised that for one second she thought-and feared-that they would understand she was hiding something.

But thank God, thank _all_ the Gods actually, since everyone knew now that there weren't only one God, the cops that came to hear about the event weren't so… _smart._ This was the only good thing about the evening.

Gosh, she needed a rest.

Her backpack felt way more heavier than it normally did.

She started to think about the hot chocolate she was going to make herself, and her soft-well, _not really,_ but it was her bed and better than nothing-couch on which she fell asleep most nights.

The TV would be open and she would let the sleep take her over as she watch her favorite show, Parks and Recreation.

She turned right and started to walk to her apartment, the watch on her right wrist was telling her that it was 3.08 am, massaging her temples, she took her keys out and—

She heard a rustle, and then, a plump, just like a sound that comes out every time when someone collapses to the floor. She turned around, and saw a man lying on the ground across the street. He _wasn't_ there a second ago.

 _Why? Why tonight is full of weird people and weird things?_

Her mouth had opened to speak, to ask the man if he's okay, but she stopped, suddenly.

That coat, that hat, those _gloves._ Oh Lord. It was James. James the Weirdo.

He was a pervert!

 _A pervert wouldn't just collapse, right?_ She sighed, and with nervous, long steps, she crossed the street and bend over.

"Hey," she said, with a softer voice than she had hoped it would be. She was planning to be distant and harsh. But when he opened his eyes and wailed, all her anger and fear was gone.

James reached out his hand, he opened his mouth but no words came out. When she looked at his hand, she saw the… _What?_

 _Blood._

Her ears were tinkling and once again, her heart was beating to death. She couldn't breathe. This was too much. _Too_ much.

"Oh my _God,_ " she hissed, trying to get him up, she wasn't thinking right now. She was just acting. She was just doing everything to keep him alive and safe, her instincts were controlling her.

"What is this blood? Is this your blood? _Shit…_ " She pulled him, or rather _tried_ to pull him. "Get up, get _up,_ you have to get up!"

He was standing on his feet, _barely_ standing, and his eyes were unfocused. She held his face, gently, as kindly as his grip on her hand back then when they had first met, and felt his sweat on her hands. She wasn't uncomfortable or disgusted because of a strange man's sweat on her hands. She was just scared.

 _Oh, how_ scared she was.

She bowed her head and saw where the blood came from, there was a red spot on the bottom of this belly. He was shot. At the diner.

"I need you to walk now, okay?" she said, with a clear and ordering voice, she was really glad that her voice wasn't trembling, you had to be cool and definite in these cases. "Walk, _James_ , come on!"

James moaned with pain, but he was walking, leaning against her, they crossed the street in twenty painful seconds.

She took the keys out once again and opened the door quickly, it was her quickest door opening experience actually.

She half carried, half dragged him to her flat.

Her home was dark, quiet and smelled like lavender, it was her mom's favorite scent. It reminded Emma of her.

She lead him to her favorite sleeping spot, her pale-colored, old couch, and when James broke down on the couch, looking even more pale than a few seconds ago, she threw away her backpack and bowed again, this time looking at his wound.

 _Trying_ to look at the wound, to be honest, she reached her hands forward to take his coat, and then shirt off, but he held her hands, tightly. He was looking at her, breathing in and out from this nose, his mouth was clenched strongly.

"James," Emma said angrily, "Let go of my hands." James kept looking at her eyes. He was going to _die._ She had to get the bullet out of his wound and had to lint it. " _Now._ "

One more second of silence.

And one more.

And one more.

Emma was sure now, that it would be too late when she had had the chance to heal his wound, she was sweating as though they were in a dragon's stomach. _Ugh. What a geek she was._

But, fortunately, James gave her hands freedom and without even thinking, she took off his coat, it was warm and a little wet. Then, she took off his long-armed shirt, James' face was sour, it was probably from the pain on his belly. Probably.

His breathing was suddenly panicky, his eyes were focused on her face, it was like he was trying to tell her something without speaking, through his eyes.

Emma took off his shirt.

At first, she thought that there was another-really odd-cloth under his shirt, but then… looking more carefully… she understood. It wasn't a cloth.

It was a metal arm.

 _What?_

It was so realistic, it looked like it was attached to his body. There was a red star on the middle of his shoulder. Emma blinked a couple of times. Freezed from shock and unable to say anything, she just looked at the metal arm, she wanted to touch it, feel it and make sure it wasn't _real._

What kind of a weirdo would wear a metal arm?

She caught his eyes fixed on her face, he looked very, very unhappy. He looked away the moment she looked on his face.

 _Okay,_ she thought. _First, the wound. Then, questoning the metal arm. Yes. That's it._

"I have to remove the bullet," she said, looking at the wound. At least, the spot where the intruder shot him was not a dangerous part of his body. I mean yeah, in every way, getting shot was a shitty thing, but at least his wound was healable. Healable enough to be cleared and fixed by a med student.

Oh yes, Emma _was_ a med student.

And that was _James'_ part from the lucky events of the evening. Or morning. She had stopped looking at the clock since 3.08 am.

"It'll hurt. A lot." _I'm sorry,_ she thought. But she didn't say anything.

James nodded, and raised his head looking at the ceiling.

And Emma started working.


	4. The Mission

She didn't question him about the metal arm.

She removed the bullet,-James had screamed like he was being tortured. Well, it was a kind of a torture.-cleared the wound and when she was finished, she had had realized that he was asleep already.

She _was_ going to question him, though.

She _had to._

The curiosity would kill her. Really.

Knowing that it was impossible to sleep, she walked to the kitchen to make herself a hot chocolate, but for the first time, she made more for another person. to drink it. The person who had saved her life. Well, she had saved his life too, the same evening. Morning. _Ugh._

She was used to being alone and she always made her drinks and meals for one person, and it was herself.

It was kinda strange to have _someone_ at her home. It really was a messed-up night.

She took a sip from the cup, burning her tongue, gulped and enjoyed the taste of chocolate. It was worth it. You know, burning your tongue, it was all worth it for the dear, dear chocolate.

Remembering her guest, she walked back to he living room.

He was awake.

Lying on the couch, looking at the ceiling.

Emma cleared her throat.

And he turned his head right in that second. Their eyes met again, this time he looked better. Better than those terrifying moments in which he was almost dying.

"You know I asked if you're okay," she said. A half-smile on her lips.

James tried to get up, and Emma put the cup on the first thing she saw, trotted to the couch, hindering him from getting up. "Hey, calm down. You have to rest. You're weak."

"Thank you for…" He looked like he was trying to find the right word.

Emma raised her eyebrows up.

"Helping me," he said finally.

"Sure," she said cheerfully. "No problem at all." Her eyes shifted to his metal arm. He had realized it, closed his eyes with a nervous expression.

"I'm really sorry."

"Well _I'm_ sorry," she said. "You're the one who'd got shot."

James shook his head. "I just… I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh," she said.

"I waited you until you left the diner and followed you to your home."

"Okay," she said, glad to find out that he wasn't a pervert after all. She sat on the edge of the couch.

"Then, when I was just about to leave, I realized, that I was shot…"

"Hey, you're tiring yourself," Emma said. Unable to control herself, she pushed the hair pinches away from his face, it was like her instinct told her to do it. "You're not allowed to do that." She felt the tension on James' body the moment she had touched him.

She pulled her hands back but kept sitting on the couch.

"I thought you were a pervert," she said, after a moment of silence. God, she _hated_ the silence. No, she hated the silence between _them._

"Naturally," he said, his eyes were closed.

Emma examined his face carefully, looked at his handsome face, covered with a light beard, the same color of his hair. His brown hair was messed up and assembled under the back of his head. He looked tired but his face was relaxed, and it was good.

It was good to heal a person, help a person who'd got hurt and then see that he was feeling better with your help, your interference.

She backed away, in fact, ran away from her thoughts when they brought her mother to her head.

When she had finally got out of her reverie, she met James' eyes, and blinked. Her face was starting to blush, annoyed. Annoyed because she hated acting like a teenage girl who blushes in front of her crush, she hated not being able to control the way she act.

She wetted her lips and looked away, but he kept looking at her.

"What keeps you from asking me about the arm?" he said suddenly.

"What?" she said, stupidly. Well, she _was_ planning to ask something about it. But she was distracted by… him.

 _He_ was the thing that kept her from asking about the arm. His _lips,_ his eyes, even his _beard._

Emma was not gonna fool herself about the way she felt about him. He was hot. She had seen his muscles while cleaning his wound. He had a perfect shape, except from his metal arm.

Not that Emma was _against_ to the metal arms.

She was perfectly fine with it. Terrified and scared and shocked too. But yeah, mostly, she was fine with it.

"My _metal arm,_ " he said, suppressing the last words.

"Um…" She gulped, not knowing what to say, and finally: "How… How did _it_ happened?"

"I can't answer that," he said. His eyes were… angry. _Angry? Why…_

"But—" Emma frowned. "You told me… You said—what keeps you from—"

"I _know_ I said that."

"So?" Emma's face was full of curiosity. She _wanted_ to know how did his arm end up like that. He couldn't just remind her about his arm and run away from the question like that. He _just_ couldn't.

" _So,_ I didn't say I was gonna answer it. I just asked what kept you from asking about it."

"Well, thanks a lot for the lesson," she said, annoyed and not afraid to show it.

"Believe me, it's better this way."

"What way?"

"You, knowing nothing about me way. The less you know, the better it is. Trust me."

Emma laughed irritably. "Well, I don't trust you, actually."

"Fine," he said, trying to get up once again. Emma held him from his shoulders and pushed him back, a little too harshly, so harshly that James' face was full of shock.

"I said lie down, _soldier,_ " she said with a stiff tone in her voice. Just like the time when she said he was a _ghost,_ the almost enjoyed expression on his face went dull. "What?" she said.

"Nothing."

"Don't _nothing_ me. The same thing happened when I told you you are a ghost."

"Nothing happened back then, and nothing happens now." He scowled. "When will you let me go? I'm fine."

"No you're not. Med student talking." She sighed. "Tell me about your arm. You _owe_ me that."

"A med student?"

" _Tell me_ about your arm!"

"You'd get killed if you knew the slightest thing about me. I won't endanger you, because like you said, I _owe_ you."

Emma's right brow raised up. "I know the most important thing about you. Your _name._ "

James smiled as though she gave her the good news of the day. "That isn't important. Not anymore." He looked _way_ better when he smiled.

"So is it fake?"

He didn't answer for a fraction of a moment. "No, it isn't fake. It's just… It's long forgotten."

"Right. Your arm. Tell me."

"Let it go. Let _me_ go."

"No way, sir!"

James inhaled and exhaled slowly through his nose. "You're…" Again, stopping to find the right words… "You're the first person that I really like for ages. And… I don't want you to get hurt."

" _James,_ " she said. "The guy who came into the diner, it wasn't your fault. You know that. You _know_ that, right?"

He shook his head negatively. "You wanna know who I am but knowing who I am, being close to me, it will _kill_ you. Not right now. Maybe not even years later. But in the end, you'll be dead and that'll be my fault. I'll be the reason. I don't want that. _What I am,_ is a messed-up, terrible person."

Emma was kinda scared now. But she kept looking at his face, he looked so sincere and so much like a… Good person. Not a perfect guy. But a good one. A good one with problems. Just like anybody else.

Just like _her._

She wanted to ask him who he was, but she knew it would be stupid to ask, right after the things he had said.

So instead, she leaned forward, she was maybe a little too close to him, but she didn't back away. He looked nervous again, but he didn't say anything either.

"Did you kill people?"

James clenched his jaw.

Emma was so ready to hear that he was gonna say no, his hesitation to answer the question was rather awkward for her. She frowned.

 _Oh my God._

"I did. I killed people. In the past."

"Oh," was all that she could say. _Oh._

 _"_ I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I _know_ that. You saved my life. I know…" She was scared. Dead scared. But she somehow knew that he meant it. He wouldn't hurt her. No.

James held her hand. Suddenly. "I'm not gonna let anybody hurt you."

 _What?_ She couldn't follow. She just couldn't. One second he was talking about how he couldn't let her know anything about himself and one second he was saying that he was gonna protect her. Oh, and by the way, he had told her that he killed people too. In the past. Yeah.

She looked at his hands on her hands.

"Tell me who you are then," she said, whispering, suddenly feeling her heart's beating. It was mistaking itself with a race horse again. "If you can protect me, If _you'll_ protect me, there is no problem at all. You can tell me."

James shook his head, slowly, gently.

"As long as I'm here," he whispered, "I'll protect you."

"Are you a superhero or something?" she asked, thinking about the Avengers. If you were a NYC citizen, when you remembered superheroes, you'd automatically remember the Avengers.

"No I'm not," he said, looking so sad and bitter suddenly.

"So, you're a normal guy who wants to protect me. Great," she said.

"I have to tell you, I guess, that I'm not normal as well. Not exactly."

"What _are_ you, then?" _Who are you?_

"I'm… I'm a ghost," he said. "It is my mission to protect you. For a while. Until you let me go." He sighed. "It'll be my favorite mission." Was he _flirting_ with her now? Really?

"Is _that_ so?" she said, giggling. _Giggling, for God's sake. Giggling._

Ugh.


	5. The Museum

She was watching him sleep once again.

He was sleeping on his non-metal arm, his hair was spread to the couch, around his head. She couldn't decide which one was better, tied or untied?

He took a deep breath and moved his body. Afraid of getting caught, Emma pulled the hot chocolate cup to her mouth and walked to the kitchen with a panicky rush.

She had slept only for two hours and drank four cups of hot chocolate, and the chocolate's energy giving, relaxing existence was already starting to leave her.

Saddened, she put the cup on the stall.

Just as she started to look outside the window to the empty apartment space, she felt his presence behind her.

Feeling excited, rather than nervous, she opened the brown, wood cupboard, and pulled out two white plates, the cheapest ones she could find in the one-dolar shop down the street.

"Want some eggs and bacon?" she said, opening the fridge.

He looked confused. And his messy hair was so… Ugh.

She grabbed the bacons and eggs, switched on the oven and gave him a sideways look, "You don't have much choice actually," she said. "I only have these for breakfast." She frowned. "As a matter of fact, these are the only food I have in my kitchen. And of course," she said, scrambling the eggs and the bacons on the pan. "There is chocolate. There is always chocolate." She laughed.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

"Do what?" she said, still scrambling their breakfast.

"I can take care of myself-"

He stopped talking when Emma stopped for a second and turned to face him. His face was motionless and despite all the things he said, he was sitting on one of the two chairs in her small kitchen.

"So you're saying," she said, pointing the egged spatula to him. "You're chickening out."

"I'm… I'm doing what?"

Smart move. Trying to make himself look like a fool. But she was _smarter._ Also, cooler than him with the eggy pointed spatula in her hand. Yeap. She was the winner in this game. Sort of. Whatever!

"You're being a _coward,_ " she said, not trying to hide her frustration and anger. "I mean, are you even _serious_? Don't you remember—"

"I remember," he said. "But just because I promised to protect you, that doesn't mean…"

"What?"

James' face hardened. "That doesn't mean I'm gonna sit and have a breakfast with you."

"You know, _normal_ people usually do that."

James didn't say anything, he was just looking at her with his annoying beautiful blue eyes.

Emma started to laugh. She wasn't meant to but she just couldn't stop herself. The eggs were burnt and looking non-eatable. She put all the bacons and eggs on one white plate and put it in front of him, as though tossing a ball to someone.

She was still laughing. He looked more sad and disturbed than ever.

"I'm _sorry_ ," she said. "Really." She took a breath through her nose, trying to get herself together.

Okay. Okay.

She was alright now. She had to be.

 _How stupid she was._ Just because he liked this mysterious looking, cute guy, it didn't mean they were gonna stick together forever. Even though he had promised her that he was gonna protect her just a couple of hours ago.

 _As long as I'm here,_ he said. He obviously wasn't planing to stay here. Not anymore.

 _"_ _Enjoy,_ " she said with an ironic yet bitter voice. It was impossible for anyone but herself to know, to hear the bitterness in her voice. "I'm going to school."

And she was at school, trying to focus on her lessons, the most important thing in her life was this school and getting her degree. Yet she was keep being an idiot to think about him. _James._ Even his name wasn't real.

Okay, according to him, it was, but she didn't believe it.

She didn't believe him at all.

And she had made herself a promise. She was never going to believe a word he had said.

Going straightly from school to home was strange. She hadn't done it for ages, it was always home-school-work-home.

Now, for the first time after a while, she had nothing to do.

So she decided to straightly go home.

Today was the perfect day to nap and watch P&R and then nap again. And she _wasn't_ going to think about him. James. No.

She saw a couple of kids' chattering while walking on the pavement.

"Come on! I wanna see Captain America!"

"Move!"

"Chill out!" said one of them, it was a girl, apparently, a clever one. "You're not _actually_ gonna see them. You're just gonna see his pictures and costumes and gun friends…"

"Oh, shut up Leona!"

"Come on!" said another kid.

"Idiots," Emma heard Leona muttering.

She stopped and her eyes followed the kids to the entrance of a building.

It was a museum.

 _Oh._

It was _that_ museum. The one that was filled with Captain America and his friends.

Emma wasn't a fan of Cap. I mean of course she respected him as everyone else, but she didn't have this huge, crazy love for him.

She liked Tony Stark though, a little bit. 'Cause, you know, he was just… _Cool._ And a billionaire. Yeah, this must be the reason. All that pretty money making him look so pretty.

With a sour face and without having a better thing to do, in fact, having _nothing_ else to do, she trotted towards the museum, walking slowly.

There were excited mutters and murmurs of people but except for that, it was quiet inside. People were constantly moving, beaming at the pictures and little information boards. She didn't read the boards, she didn't like reading boards. She just walked and looked at the pictures.

There, it was Cap in his old costumes and he was with this friends, there, it was, of course, Cap again, standing sheer, looking proud and handsome.

He wasn't her type though.

She kept moving, until she reached a corner, which was apparently designed and styled particularly.

She blinked, frowned and looked at Cap and the man on his side, there was a special video and of course, an information board. She skipped the board and walked closer to the video and the images.

She felt her heart suddenly stop.

 _James._

It was James.

James was Cap's best friend? _How?_

I mean, Cap's story was obvious, stuck in the ice for years thing, but how did _he…_ No. She just couldn't accept the fact she helped and hosted Captain America's best friend.

And then tossing the plate to him…

And then saying _Enjoy!_ to him.

Oh no. _Oh no._


	6. The Flowerpots

She kept talking to herself, mentally, on her way back to home.

She was so tangled with her thoughts, when she arrived the apartment's door, she had hardly noticed the steps and dizzily, she took her keys out, opening the door with slow movements.

Her flat was quiet as usual, dark and cold. She let her backpack slip to the floor.

And went to kitchen to make herself some hot chocolate. She was _already_ missing work, how could it be possible?

 _She simply needed a distraction._

To keep her mind off him.

Holding the hot cup in her hands, she trotted towards the living room and sat awkwardly on her couch, when she had brought her nose closer, she could swear, she could smell _him._

It was a mixed scent: sweat, soap and frost.

She closed her eyes and tried to forget it. Forget the smell. Forget _him._

Where was he, she wondered. What was he doing? Was he _okay_?

Was he saving another girl's life?

He _really_ was a hero. She knew it now for sure. Not a superhero but a hero, just a hero. _And,_ she realized at that very moment, _it's even better. It's better to be just a hero._

She closed her eyes, unable to focus anything else, anything but James.

 _James Buchanan Barnes._

It wasn't a fake name. He had told her that it had no importance anymore, and that somehow meant something to her after learning who he was, but still…

There was something wrong, something mysterious about his name.

Well, _another_ mystery.

Sighing, she switched off the TV and curled up on the couch. The window near her couch was clumsily blocking the usual noise of the city. She blinked a couple of times, waiting for sleep to come, and looked at her flowerpots.

Her mom's favorite flowers were planted on the earth inside of them.

Remembering her again, she closed her eyes and let the sleep take her over.

She opened her eyes, feeling a presence of a stranger.

Like, someone was inside her house, someone was watching her.

When she saw the silhouette with eyes hardened from her dreamless sleep, she closed her eyes again, thinking that her mind was playing a ridiculus game to her.

 _It wasn't real._ There wasn't anybody on her balcony, it was not likely to happen… _Why the hell not?_ Why the hell not, when she was such a strong, perfect weirdo magnet.

Her heart was beating like a drum.

Still not fully awake, she blinked twice and eyed her window and small balcony. Relieved, she straightened on the couch, her back was aching.

On her feet, she took a deep breath and opened the door to the balcony, letting the mixed noise of the horns and people, New York City. Her home. It was getting dark outside, the sky was bluish-black.

She hugged herself, it was cool outside, cooler than inside and looked at the buildings in front of her and the long road full of cars in the middle of the buildings. She looked at the lights.

It was a good view.

A beautiful one.

Biting her lip, she rushed back inside, trying not to think but to act only, because the thing that she was about to do could only be done without thinking. She pulled her box full of her mom's belongings and looked at all of them at once for a moment, and then, took the big, old-fashioned and dusty camera, gently, in her hands.

This was the most precious thing that had left from her.

Not a picture, but a camera.

It had been staying in that box for a long time, because Emma simply didn't want to see anything that had belonged to her mom. But right now it didn't matter because she wasn't _thinking,_ she was just doing.

She stood up and went back to the balcony, with her heart's excited rhythm.

Wetting her lips, she held the camera more tightly, and raised it to her head.

Now she was looking at the view from the objective of the camera. She counted…

One…

Two… Before saying _three_ in her head, she pressed the shutter button.

 _Klik._

She lowered the camera and waited as the camera gave birth to the small sized, square shaped photograph, she shook it gently and looked at the picture with blank eyes.

It was the first time… Her first photograph since… _Since her mom had died._

Realizing what she had done, she opened her fingers and let the picture seep from her hands, down to the darkness of the street, away from her.

It had been a very long time since the last time she held a camera and took a picture.

But the feeling, the _instinct_ was still in her. She knew it now.

She looked down from her balcony but couldn't see the picture, it was too far away from her now.

And it was good. It was better.

Taking photographs was _their_ thing. She and her mom.

It was not a thing she could do on her own, and right now was just an exception. Taking a deep breath and suddenly realizing how cold she was, she pressed the polaroid camera on her chest and walked towards inside.

But when a sudden stumbling interrupted her action, she shrieked with fear, trying to find her balance _and_ trying to protect the camera.

 _"_ _Shit!"_

Before she could even blink, the camera was on the ground and she was not.

The crashing voice when the camera and the floor joined felt almost deafening. She sucked in a deep breath and collapsed down, trying to catch all the pieces that had spread around the balcony.

 _Why? Why couldn't she just protect a single, fucking camera? WHY?_

Why was she so useless? Why?

This was the _most_ precious thing from her, the _closest_ thing to her. When she held it, she could almost feel her fingerprints, she could remember her face and the way she held the camera like it was yesterday.

Like she was still alive.

Like they were going to go out and be together and take photos and be a family, just like the old times, like… like… nothing happened… like she hadn't died.

While the tears were streaming down from her eyes to her chin, finding their path on her cheeks, she held the pieces tightly and kept sitting there, how long, she didn't know.

But when she finally stood up again and looked around her, she realized something she hadn't before…

Her flowerpots were… _different._ Their position, in fact, it was different.

She had always positioned her flowerpots leaned on the balcony grills, all of them on the same line, it was almost a sick habit and that's why, she was kinda scared and uncomfortable.

It wasn't a dream or an imagination, it was as real as the superheroes and the mutants, there had been someone on her balcony, probably eyeing her from outside while she was sleeping.

Still hiccoughing, she clenched her jaw.

She had had enough. Enough with the weird types and pervert-ish idiots, _enough._

She rushed back inside, unable to think and not knowing what to do…

But she didn't have to think that much.

Someone was knocking on her door.


	7. The Broken Hearted Girl

She had this strange feeling that it was James behind the door.

So, when the memory of his handsome face woke up in her mind, she stopped for a second to slow down her heartbeats.

She was _literally_ excited, even the thought of him made her excited.

 _How pathetic._

With a sudden anger in her, she opened the door, trying to look pissed and annoyed, she looked at the man in front of her.

It wasn't James.

It was a stranger.

Emma scowled and closed the door a little bit, feeling stupid about opening the door before asking "who's there?"

This was the only and the best thing she could do to make herself feel safe in this shitty apartment.

And because of James-she was simply starting to grow a habit called "blame it on James"-she had forgotten it.

"How can I help?" she said, looking at the man. He was young, looked like he was nearly at Emma's age, but she wasn't sure. She wasn't a detective or something, she couldn't make out stuff like that by looking at that person.

Basically, she wasn't Sherlock.

But she was a med student, a good one actually, and she could tell by the color of his skin and unfocused look on his eyes, the man wasn't healthy, not at all.

The guy blinked, the white parts of his eyes were also red, which was never a normal thing, and you know, it looked kinda creepy.

"My eye hurts," he said.

 _Okay,_ she thought. _Maybe he lives in this building and knows that I'm a med student. Yeah._

That must be it.

"Um…" said Emma, because she was unable to talk.

The guy took a step towards Emma, and she felt like, you know, maybe she should scream, so that she wouldn't be _dead._

But she didn't.

She just closed the door, _tried_ to close it, actually, but the guy stopped her with an enormous strength, he didn't look like a muscly guy, not at all.

"Okay, I've had enough," Emma muttered and she kicked his knee, that one move made him go back, back to the wall across the hall. "Fuck off," Emma said, her aggressive voice echoed in the empty hall.

She closed the door.

And leaned against it, hugging herself.

A sleepless night, it seemed like, a sleepless night with full of dark thoughts.

What was that about, seriously? After meeting James, she had become a magnet, a _real_ magnet, who attracts all kinds of weird people.

She could hear the ruffling of the clothes, the movement behind the door. The steps coming close to her door and the struggling between two people, at least, she guessed that it was between two people. There was no talking, just the crunching.

Holding her breath, she listened to the noises.

After almost a minute, she heard and felt this time, the knocking on her door.

Biting her lips and afraid to ask who he was, she held the door handle and waited for a second.

Then, she heard someone whispering, "Emma," he said, "It's me."

She understood who he was _before_ he told her his name.

 _James._ "James."

She opened the door without waiting for another second, and the concerned, beautiful face of his hit her like a lightning.

James raised his hand to her face but before touching her, he stopped and he turned away, looking at the man lying on the floor.

"What happened?" he asked.

Emma was looking at the man too, trying to understand if he's alive or dead, he didn't look alive but it didn't mean he was dead. He could be in some kind of trance.

"He just knocked my door and told me his eye hurt."

James nodded. "He's dead."

"Oh."

"Because of the eye," James continued. "Let's get inside."

"But… shouldn't we call the cops? I mean…" She felt uncomfortable. "What about his body?"

"Hydra will clean it's own mess," he said, looking furious. "I'm done with doing it."

"What the hell is Hydra?" she asked, when they got inside. She locked the door as much as she can(three times).

James didn't seem like he had heard her.

She opened her lips to ask again, but James started talking.

"You know I killed people, in the past," he said, he was looking out from the window at something outside.

"Yeah," she said, suddenly feeling like she had to sit down. But she stood still and narrowed her eyes.

The flowerpots. He was looking at the flowerpots. Before she could ask anything about them, he spoke.

"Hydra made me do it," he said. "And that's the only thing I'm gonna say."

Again. All that conspiracy. She could slap him right at that moment.

"What do you _mean_ , Hydra made you do it?"

"They're… It is…" James looked confused and indecisive about the things he said.

She walked towards him, but not just a few steps, he walked all the way towards him. They were so close, she could again feel the tense ran through his body, she wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, like, did he feel uncomfortable everytime she made a move close to him?

She chose to ignore his tension.

"Is it like Shield?" Emma asked, whispering.

James turned his face to her, looked a little puzzled. "How do you-"

"Doesn't matter." It _did_ matter. Emma was just a citizen and a normal citizen wasn't supposed to know about Shield.

But her… Her dad was an agent. And she knew it. She remembered the first time her mom had told her about his dad. The dad that her mom had never spoken about.

She knew about Shield and how it was watching them, she and her mom, but she after finding out the truth about his secret agent father, she had decided to push it away, far far away in her head.

So far that, until this very moment, she hadn't been even thinking about it for ages.

James still looked confused, but he nodded as an answer to her question.

"I thought communities like that were supposed to… You know… Protect us."

"Not all of them are the same," James murmured.

They were looking at each other's eyes in the dark, the only light came from outside, the city lights.

She leaned forward, again, she wasn't thinking, it was just like taking a photograph, catching the view, kissing him.

And after freezing for a moment, he kissed her back.

And held her with his normal arm, pulled her to his chest. She raised her hands and felt his brown, tied hair. It was soft. He was soft. And beautiful.

They were kissing like they needed each other, like they were hungry, but it was not food what they were hungry for. It was this warmness, this strength and this softness she needed.

His metal arm was covered with a glove and a coat again, but he was insisting not to hold her with both of his arms anyway.

She parted herself from this lips and took a few deep breaths, their foreheads were leaned against each other, and their breaths were mixing, every time they inhaled and exhaled.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Of course she wasn't sorry about kissing him, but she was sorry for her earlier behavior. "For… you know… my behavior earlier."

She raised her head and looked at his face.

He had never looked more handsome and attractive before.

She wanted to kiss him more, more and more.

But the smile on his beautiful lips were bitter. "We shouldn't have done this…"

"What do you mean?" she said, even though she knew exactly what he meant.

"I _told_ you," he said. "I can't let anything happen to you." They were still too close. "That man lying outside your door, that dead man, it was Hydra's work. Hydra's way of warning. There was a camera in the man's eye and they were watching, waiting for me. It saw me, when I came to your door. They _saw_ me. And they'll-"

Emma touched his lips with her fingers, feeling like she could cry. She was crying, maybe, she didn't know.

James leaned forward this time, but instead of kissing her lips, he kissed a spot close to her right eye, he stopped for a few seconds, his lips burning the spot they touched, she felt her whole body trembling.

This kiss that had came from him felt even more intimate than their first kiss.

She held this metal arm, took the glove off and held his metal hand with both of her hands, and pulled it to her chest, to her heart.

 _Don't go,_ she wanted to say. But she knew she couldn't do anything to stop him. She _somehow_ knew it.

James looked even more bitter and sad, looking at his hand pressed on her chest.

Still holding her face with his normal hand, he whispered: "It's me who they want, not you. _I'll_ go now," he said. "And never come back." _No._ "And you'll be _alive._ " _No._ "You'll forget about me." _No. No. No._ "You'll forget, and move on, and I'll never feel like this before, I know this, but you'll be alive, and _Emma,_ " he said, wiping her tears, "It'll be enough."

"James…"

"It's Bucky," he whispered to her ear, and he left her there, walking towards the door, without looking back.

And once again he was gone.

Just like that.

But this time, there was a broken hearted girl he had left behind him.


End file.
